


Without Regret

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, But not exactly, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MFMM Year of Tropes, Major character death - Freeform, Non-Linear Narrative, Pretty unrelenting angst if I'm honest, Some kind of strange drabbly prose poem, but not really, it sort of has a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Her death comes in a blaze of glory. Six dead Nazis at her feet, no bullets in her gun, she spits in the last man’s face as the shots rip through her.





	Without Regret

Her death comes in a blaze of glory. Six dead Nazis at her feet, no bullets in her gun, she spits in the last man’s face as the shots rip through her. Her final thoughts before drifting into darkness are of soft blue eyes and gentle fingers at her collar, more intimate than any fuck she’s ever had.

***

His death comes in a series of hospital rooms. He holds his granddaughter’s hand as the life slips from him, she has her grandmother’s smile. The world has changed so much since he was young; she gives him hope that it is better now and she will fight to make it better still.

He dreams of a waltz in an empty airfield, the woman in his arms was never his wife. There’s not enough left of him to feel ashamed.

***

Her heart breaks quickly when he does not come after her. Then a Dear John letter to Dearest Jack full of all the things she can never be. It would take a better mathematician than her to calculate the hearts she has broken in her life. She takes no responsibility for them, they are grown men after all. She takes responsibility for his – finally – that’s probably why she left and definitely why she does not come back.

She packs her bags again and moves on before his reply can find her.

***

He breaks his heart slowly through literature. As if pain, reflected and distorted through the pages of other people’s lives will be somehow lessened. It does not work. He allows himself a mediocre love affair and breaks a heart in turn. There’s enough of him left to feel ashamed of himself and he doesn’t make a habit of it.

***

When she sells the house, Mr Butler, with a sense of trepidation, returns a toy badge to its owner by request and he finally knows the meaning of the swallow: she took her freedom with her, left their partnership behind.

In years to come he will give it to his son, a cherished gift, lost on sunny Sunday by the river, because children can be careless and profoundly deaf to the weight of semiotics.

***

His wife, when he remarries is a kind and clever woman who takes care of him and does not let him brood. They are happy enough as these things go. Nothing to complain about.

***

She’s lost count of all her lovers (years ago probably). Unaccountably they seem to keep getting younger. Vaguely, she registers that this is a thing people often say as they get older in reference to policemen.

***

She hears of his engagement through mutual friends. She keeps in touch when she can, when she stays too long in one place and begins to feel nostalgic.

She sends kitchenware as a wedding gift, finest quality of course.

_“You always had an appetite Jack and Dot tells me Helen is a marvel in the kitchen.”_

She chose the gift to remind him of what he has, (so much better for him than what she had to offer) and resists an unkind urge to send him whiskey glasses, to remind him of what they were and could have been had they both been braver and less stubborn.

***

She has more important things to worry about now. Europe falls daily into darkness and she throws herself into any cause that might help stem the tide of rage and fear and ugliness that is sweeping up the beachheads to lap against the windows. It’s a romantic aesthetic - herself outlined like Lady Liberty against the gathering storm - but ultimately even she is only human, her efforts amount to little more than spitting in the sea.

***

He does not go to war a second time. His wife convinces him that Melbourne needs policemen of experience more than the Pacific Theatre needs old soldiers. She is right of course.

He still feels like a coward.

***

The crystal glasses that never made it to his wedding arrive for him with her Will. He can’t believe that she is really dead. Then he can’t believe that after all this time he has finally succumbed to the myth of her invincibility.

He pours out a glass for her and toasts to memories shared, wistful for the ones which never were.

***

At night his granddaughter is lulled to sleep by his ‘Miss Fisher Tales’ – her favourites are the ones with pirate treasure and when she flies a plane.

“Phryne would have adored you sweetheart, I wish you’d had the chance to meet her.”

She looks at him puzzled as he tousles her hair.

“Granddad! You never call her Phryne, she’s always Miss Fisher.”

He smiles against her forehead as he kisses her goodnight.

“Not always.”

And turns out the bedroom light.

******************************************************************************************************

He’s sitting at his desk holding a card belonging to a travel agent, tapping each of the corners in turn against the rough, worn surface.

Tap

Tap

Tap

Tap

He frowns, turning down the corners of his mouth, setting the card on the table he pulls a broad palm down over his chin.

He picks it up again.

Tap

Tap

Tap

And makes a reckless choice.

***

The air grows colder as she flies North of the equator. It puts her in a foul mood she does not wish to analyse. Her father may have had a measure of redemption but he’s still a terrible travelling companion. Especially when compared to other options.

She grits her teeth hard against that idea.

The hotel is way beneath the standards she is accustomed to, a chilly rain is seeping through the windows and she catches herself wondering what on Earth she’s doing here.

She has accused herself of many things, not all of them deserved. For the first time in her life she calls herself a coward.

She puts her father on the first steamer towards England and turns her plane around.

***

They meet finally, somewhere in the middle of the map, finding adventure and a joyous ecstasy of blissful consummation in a strange city where no-one knows them. They are insulated here, in a temporary, loving bubble of borrowed time.

The approaching decade is a lengthy precipice and a deep breath, before indiscriminate war and the cold precision of absolute evil will converge to rip through 60 million lives.

The future holds no guarantees, but content and smiling in each other’s arms at last, they feel certain any risks will be worth taking.

From this (un)happy vantage point they choose a life without regret for a road untraveled.

And his granddaughter never has a name.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...sorry. Not quite sure what that was but I swear the next thing I write will be wall to wall biscuits and snogging.


End file.
